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meals off their regardless necks. . . . You can see this Grassi, sitting in a stagecoach with no springs, oblivious to bumps, deaf to the chatter of his fellow-passengers, with absent eyes counting the Anopheles claviger he had discovered—with delight—riding on the ceiling of the wagon in which he journeyed from one utterly terrible little malarious village to another still more cursed.

"I'll try them on myself!" Grassi cried. He went up north to his home in Rovellasca. He taught boys how to spot the anopheles mosquito. The boys brought boxes full of these she-zanzarone from towns where malaria rages. Grassi took these boxes to his bedroom, put on his night shirt, opened the boxes, crawled into bed—but curse it! not one of the zanzarone bit him. Instead they flew out of his room and bit Grassi's mother, "fortunately without ill effect!"

Then Grassi went back to Rome to his lectures, and on September 28th of 1898, before ever he had done a single serious experiment, he read his paper before the famous and ancient Academy of the Lincei: "It is the anopheles mosquito that carries malaria if any mosquito carries malaria . . ." And he told them he was suspicious of two other brands of mosquitoes—but that was absolutely all, out of the thirty or forty different tribes that infected the low places of Italy.

Then came an exciting autumn for Battista Grassi and an entertaining autumn for the wits of Rome, and a most important autumn for mankind. Besides all that it was a most itchy autumn for Mr. Sola, who for six years had been a patient